<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>They Will Certainly See More by deepestfathoms</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27489382">They Will Certainly See More</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms'>deepestfathoms</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Six - Marlow/Moss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:16:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27489382</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepestfathoms/pseuds/deepestfathoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They certainly did.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>They Will Certainly See More</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  “What do you mean Seymour isn’t here?!”<b><br/>
</b></p><p>The stage manager’s eyes were wide and bulging in their sockets from her smoldering gaze. The queens couldn’t help but shy away slightly- all the crew members had an aura that nobody wanted to cross when worked up. </p><p>  “She was sick,” Aragon explained. </p><p>  “You couldn’t think to tell me this BEFORE the show was about to start?!” The stage manager snapped. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Are any of the alts here? Tell them to throw on some makeup and do their hair, they’re going on.”</p><p>  “Umm…no.” </p><p>  “What?” The stage manager’s eyes snapped open to stare at Cathy.</p><p>  “None of them are here.”</p><p>  “WHAT?!”</p><p>The stage manager began to work herself up to a proper fit, barking and squawking at the queens and just about anyone who crossed her path like a jungle bird that just had its territory approached by a rivaling avian. She might have tore strips off the cast the entire time if it wasn’t for Anne suddenly piping up.</p><p>  “Wait!! What about Joan?”</p><p>That made the stage manager shut up. She snapped her mouth shut and blinked before all eyes turned over to the nearby music director, who, up until that point, was peacefully eating a yogurt cup.</p><p>  “What?” Joan said with the spoon still in her mouth.</p><p>  “That’s perfect!” The stage manager exclaimed. “Joan! Go get your makeup and hair done!”</p><p>  “My makeup and hair is already done?” Joan said. She was always ready an hour before the performance starts. “What’s going on?”</p><p>  “You’re performing as Jane,” The stage manager said. “Aragon, Parr, go help her into costume!”</p><p>  “Wait- What?!” Joan yelped, finally understanding. “I-I can’t- I-” But she was already being herded off into Jane’s dressing room.</p><p>The process of redoing her makeup and hair was hellish- there was a lot of tugging and pulling and painful brushing that scraped her scalp raw. She had to get an all new layer of makeup so she wouldn’t look washed out onstage and wouldn’t sweat it all off. Because she was sweating. A lot.</p><p>  “God, you’re soaked,” Cathy laughed slightly, combing back Joan’s hair.</p><p>  “Mm-hmm,” Joan merely replied. She was stiff in the chair, spine straightened in perfect posture for the first time in her life. Her hands clenched and unclenched anxiously in her lap. “G-guys, I–”</p><p>  “I got the costume,” Aragon cut her off, taking Jane’s dress off the rack. </p><p>Joan actually gaped at it- were they really expecting her to wear that?!</p><p>  “Guys–”</p><p>  “Come on, stand up, Joan,” Aragon urged. “Let’s get this on you.”</p><p>  “Guys!” Joan finally spoke up. Her voice had raised a few pitches. “I-I don’t think I can do this…”</p><p>  “Of course you can!“ Cathy said as she pulled her out of the chair. She and Aragon were being weirdly nice; usually they just ignored the music director unless they needed her for something. Joan guessed it was because they were in a rush and thought that being kind would get Joan to cooperate (which kinda worked).</p><p>  “You know the show by heart. There’s no way you can screw it all up.” Aragon smiled gently as she set the costume on the back of the chair. “We’ll be outside whilst you change, call us when you’re ready.”</p><p>And with that, Joan was alone in the dressing room.</p><p>Standing in Jane’s dressing room with the woman was one thing, but when she was alone everything felt wrong. Joan felt like she was invading Jane’s personal space. She knew it was stupid, Jane wasn’t here. Jane was at home, sick.</p><p>Deciding to not dwell on it any longer, Joan quickly changed into the costume. The first thing she noticed about the dress was that it was heavy, much heavier than she had imagined. The second thing she noticed was that it didn’t fit her at all. Instead of looking like it was tailored to her body, it simply hung from her shoulders, and she didn’t even want to THINK about how saggy it was around her smaller chest. She was practically drowning in the fabric, and Joan wondered if she could just wear her band costume and claim it as an emergency alternate costume, but then the five minute call blasted through the speaker.</p><p>Cathy and Aragon burst through the door, stumbling over each other as they tumbled into the room.</p><p>  “Come on Joan, the show is starting soon and we still need to have a mic check.” Cathy said, giving Joan a quick glance. “You can’t go on stage looking like that.” Frantically, she and Aragon searched Jane’s room for safety pins.</p><p>An announcement played over the speaker, saying the show was delayed for another ten minutes. Guilt started to consume Joan as she stood in the middle of Jane’s dressing room. She must look rather pathetic, standing there in a dress too big and her face caked in makeup.</p><p>Suddenly, there’s hands cupping her cheeks and she flinches in surprise. Aragon is standing in front of her, holding her face while Cathy finished with the last of the pins. The golden queen tapped Joan’s cheek with a finger and Joan stopped trying to avoid her eyes like a dog that was caught drinking out of the toilet bowl, instead slowly meeting her patient gaze.</p><p>This was the first time Aragon had ever been affectionate or gentle with Joan. And Joan relished it.</p><p>  “You’re going to be okay.” Aragon told her. Her voice was smooth and warm, coiling up Joan’s neck and slithering right into her ears. It numbs her anxiety. </p><p>  “B-but what if I–”</p><p>  “Shh…” Aragon stroked back a loose piece of hair that just didn’t want to stay down. She took a silver bobby-pin from her sleeve and pinned it back herself. “You’ll be just fine, darling. We know you can do this.”</p><p>  “B-but I– OW!!”</p><p>  “Sorry!” Cathy called from behind Joan. “Yikes. That’s a lot of pins.” She laughed slightly. “But I’m sure it’s fine. The dress is silver, anyway! Matches the, uhh, color scheme!”</p><p>A chunk of ice drove itself into Joan’s stomach. She sets her trembling hands over her unsettled middle and Aragon quickly took them in her own. She squeezed them tightly. Oh how Joan wished she actually cared about her and wasn’t just doing this to get her to cooperate.</p><p>  “I can’t,” Joan whispered.</p><p>Despite always dreaming of getting to perform and dance and sing, actually having to do it sounded horrible. Perhaps because it was forced onto her and she didn’t have a say at all. It would probably be easier if she had volunteered herself.</p><p>Maybe.</p><p>  “You have to,” Aragon said. “I’m sorry. But I know you can do this.”</p><p>  “Come on,” Cathy said. </p><p>The three of them walked down to the wings, where the other three queens and ladies in waiting were already in place onstage. Cathy and Aragon have to leave Joan, grabbing their mics and getting in their spots. Joan took Jane’s place a few moments after them. Right before the lights go out, she saw Maria, Bessie, Maggie, and even her dep giving her encouraging smiles and thumbs up. She shook her head nervously at them, pleading with her eyes for one of them to drop dead so she didn’t have to do this.</p><p>But alas.</p><p>Blackout.</p><p>A cacophony of anticipated murmurs swelled through the audience as the curtains part ever so slightly so the queens can walk out. They were just barely lit up by soft white lights bleeding dimly from backstage. Fog rolled out like great grey waves.</p><p>Then, pitch blackness once again.</p><p>She tripped. She knew she tripped or stumbled or something stupid while walking out of the curtains. She tripped or staggered or stepped wrong or something and now they all know she’s not Jane and they’re going to laugh at her and–</p><p>Joan couldn’t breathe. Her body was on autopilot as she followed along with the others, trying to walk the way Jane would normally walk (and yet she still messed that up with her slight stumble on her way out of the curtains). She hoped that she looked enough like the woman to fool the audience and keep them happy for at least half of the show before they got tired of seeing her as a fraud, but that was just wishful. They could take one look at her (or her chest) to know that she was not Jane Seymour.</p><p>And that scared her. </p><p>She was scared of them booing or leaving just because she wasn’t the queen. Which was entirely stupid of her to worry over because the alts and swings went on all the time and everyone loved them. But her anxiety just wouldn’t register that as true facts. </p><p>She was a fraud. And they were all going to laugh at her.</p><p>She really didn’t want to be laughed at…</p><p>A deep hum filled the auditorium- the beginning of Ex-Wives was starting. The sound seemed to rattle Joan to her very core as she listened to it. It honestly used to be serene and calming, but now it just filled her with icy cold dread. She wanted to throw up from the intense terror waving over her, but her stomach was in too tight of knots to eject anything at the moment.</p><p>  “Divorced.”</p><p>A cone of purple light rained down on Aragon. There were the twin beats. </p><p>This whole part revolved a lot on timing, and Joan knew if she didn’t say her line at just the right moment, then she would throw Maria off. And she really didn’t want to embarrass her bandmates, too, so she gathered up as much confidence as she could and prepared herself. </p><p>  “Beheaded.”</p><p>The purple light comes down on Anne. The twin beat resounds loudly.</p><p>This was her moment. One of her many moments, but a moment no less. She couldn’t fuck it up, not after the way she tripped.</p><p>The purple light spills its rays of amethyst over Joan and she takes a deep breath.</p><p>  “D-<em>ied</em>.”</p><p>The twin drum beat thumps heavily. Joan swore the thunderous pulse was enough to shatter her rapidly beating heart, which just picked up even more speed.</p><p>Her voice cracked. Her fucking voice cracked.</p><p>She wondered if it was possible to swallow her microphone whole and choke on it so she wouldn’t have to do this…</p><p>  “Divorced.”</p><p>A cone of light encased Anna. Joan exhaled deeply, no one seemed to notice. Maybe she could pretend to be sick, people have gone on sick before. Joan prayed that they had an alternate ready before Heart of Stone; she didn’t know what she would do if she had to sing that song.</p><p>  “Beheaded.”</p><p>Joan was ready to run, she didn’t care about letting the audience down. But then the image of Jane popped into her head, she was frowning, like she was disappointed. Disappointed in Joan. That thought made her stay on stage, rooted in her spot.</p><p>  “And tonight, London. We are…”</p><p><em>I can do this, </em>She kept telling herself, hoping it would calm her down.</p><p>The pause seemed to last much longer than a few seconds. Her nerves mounted as she waiting. Joan raised the mic to her lips a bit early.</p><p>Then suddenly she saw Anne take a breath, meaning it was coming.</p><p>  “Live!“ Joan’s voice was stronger than she thought, an excited grin adorned her face. <em>I got it!</em>She praised herself.</p><p>The show flew by in a whirl of flashing lights, humming harmonies, and barely-contained pride. The longer she performed, the more Joan got comfortable with the role of being the third queen. And the audience didn’t even seem to mind! They looked like they really liked her!</p><p>It was just amazing. Every inch of her body was tingling in joy, fueled by an adrenaline rush that seemed to be made of liquid gold. She hadn’t been this energetic about anything in a long time. Her limbs would ache the next day, but she didn’t care. She just continued to sing and dance and be genuinely happy.</p><p>The MegaSix soon rolled around, meaning the show would be over soon, and Joan found herself slightly sad while she danced along with the queens. She wished she could play this part forever, that she could always be in the spotlight like this. People would praise her name: Joan Meutas, the False Silver Queen. And they would love her, they would want her autograph and ask to take pictures with her and go to brag to their friends about meeting her.</p><p>It would be incredible.</p><p>Joan was so wrapped up in dancing and fantasizing her own popularity that she didn’t even realize something was wrong until a cold breeze hit her bare belly.</p><p>…Bare?</p><p>The audience gasped, yelped, shouted, laughed, whistled.</p><p>Cameras flashed.</p><p>The queens turned to her, frozen, eyes bulging out of their skull, mouths hanging open like their jaws had been unhinged.</p><p>Petrified, Joan slowly looked down at her naked body, shielded only by a bra and underwear, and the silver dress around her feet.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>